Catalyst
by AB115
Summary: He's feeling reckless, feeling pained, feeling like absolute destruction personified, and throwing pillows around is not enough. That phrase alone shoots through him. He's the school's funniest kid, but it's not enough. It's never been enough and, apparently, it'll never be enough... Post-Headhunters, Pre-Undead Again. Because I'm still mad that Kate was let off the hook on subtext
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Anger

He's angry. He's so angry he feels as though he could rip the city apart, building by building, throwing cars out of his way, knocking down the careless pedestrians who get in his path. He's imagining it, his writer's mind trying to spin it, desperate for some sort of release. But the idea is not enough. And he can't very well throw a Hulk-like tantrum in the loft, not when he'd have to explain the destruction to a very concerned mother and daughter.

_At least they're not here to see this_, he reminds himself as he tears through the loft, slamming doors, drawers, throwing anything he can find that won't shatter on impact.

He's feeling reckless, feeling pained, feeling like absolute destruction personified, and throwing pillows around is not enough. That phrase alone shoots through him. He's the school's funniest kid, but it's not enough. It's never been enough and, apparently, it'll never be enough.

This uninvited train of thought causes him to momentarily collapse, and he finds himself, dazed, on his couch. He blinks, looks around, tries to steady his breathing, tries to at least decide if he is more angry or more depressed. Both of these emotions at war with one another are too dangerous. Feeling the anger pick up again, he stomps back into his office, pours himself a drink, chugs, pours, chugs, pours, chugs. Then he wills himself to sit, to wait until the strong amber liquid kicks in and brings him something other than the overwhelming agony of defeat.

* * *

He wakes up, confused, blurry-eyed, to his phone buzzing noisily on his nightstand. He reaches for it, doesn't even open his eyes.

"Hello?" he mumbles, dazed.

"Castle?" It's Kate. Damnit. Not who he needed to hear from. Now or ever. He clears his throat, sits up, glances at the clock. 4:13 a.m.

"Beckett, it's the middle of the night. What do you want?" His voice comes out angry, slices through her like a knife. He hears a sharp inhale on the other end, and feels the strong pang of regret. He starts to apologize, but then he remembers he's not supposed to care about her, not supposed to want to soothe her when she's upset. So he waits.

"Castle, I'm sorry, but I need you to listen to what I'm going to say, and I need you to listen to the entire thing before you react. Can you do that?" Her voice is unsure, wavering, and he's suddenly nervous, his heart thumping hard in his chest. He breathes deeply, again, reminding himself that he has to remain immune to whatever she says, has to keep his distance, no matter what. "Please say something so I know you hear me," her voice, barely a whisper, breaks at the end.

"Yeah, I'm here," he responds gruffly, thinking that he shouldn't be here, not for her. He hears her gulp down some air, swallow, breathe.

"There was a party going on at some kid's apartment on the Upper West. It got a little out of hand. Cops were called in when a neighbor heard shots fired." She pauses, breathes. Castle is unbelievably confused. She called in the middle of the night for a body drop? Doesn't she know better than that right now?

"Beckett, I'm not going to be tagging along to a murder scene right now. I just – I can't." He sighs, hopes she doesn't hear the catch in his throat.

"No, Castle, you don't understand. It was a graduation party. For Marlowe Prep students." She stops again, hoping he starts to catch up soon, because she doesn't want to say it, can't bear to say it out loud, not to him.

"Alexis?" He thinks he hears himself ask. His thoughts are flying through his brain too fast for him to get any of them out through his mouth. _Shots fired. Graduation party. A little out of hand. 4:13 am. Body drop._

"She was there, Rick."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Shock.

"She was there, Rick," another pause, another breath. She realizes this isn't fair, that she doesn't get to be so upset by this information, she should just give it to him, but she can't. "She was rushed to St. Luke's. I'm outside in the car. Come down, I'll take you to her." She was a coward, choosing to tell him downstairs from the safety of her car, across a telephone line. She told herself that she did it for purposes of expediency, but she knows that's a lie.

She hears something that sounds like the phone has been dropped, but the call is still connected, so she holds her breath, listening. He's running around, frantic, stepping into pants, pulling on a shirt, tripping over himself, his vision already blurred with tears he has yet to cry. Then, the line goes dead, and her head falls forward on to the steering wheel. He's going to want answers, and she has none. She doesn't know why or how or who, just what she said: Shots fired. 911 call. Alexis hit.

She's pulled from her musings as the passenger door slams open, then quickly shut. She puts the car in drive, doesn't even look over at him, can't. Not with the heaviness of this situation, not with the pain he was obviously in before it, not when she seems to be the source of so much unhappiness.

She expected a barrage of questions, but what she gets is much worse: a silent, stoic shell. She risks a glance at him, finds him staring down at his hands, at his phone, as though he is willing it to ring and for this to have just been a cruel joke. She thinks she should say something.

"I don't know anything else," she blurts out. _Well, that was a stupid thing to say_, she thinks, then composes herself. "I mean, no one on our team was on call. Someone thought to call me when they saw her ID." She realizes that's an incredibly insensitive way to phrase it, but her mouth is not cooperating, not asking permission of her brain before it starts moving. She also realizes that there is no longer an _our _team, but chooses not to entertain that thought right now. _One problem at a time, Kate. One at a time._

Still, he says nothing. As far as she can tell, he doesn't even blink. Stopped at a red light, and without thinking any further into it, she reaches out with her right hand, tries to find his left, but instead lands on his thigh. "Hey," she whispers, glancing at him again. "It's ok. It's going to be ok." He looks up at her, his eyes appearing to register her existence for the first time that night. He blinks at her, then looks down at her hand, but doesn't move. He doesn't want comfort from her, doesn't want anything from her. He just wants to see his daughter, alive, breathing. He just wants to remember the girl who used to be his whole world, who is slipping through his fingers, who he had apparently replaced with a woman who would never love him back.

He can't reconcile all his feelings – the worry, the anger, the sadness – so, instead, he looks back down at his lap, blinks, breathes, registering nothing at all.

* * *

The car is in motion, and then suddenly it isn't. They're at the hospital and he realizes he is running, out of the car, through the doors, and then shouting her name, over and over. People are staring, he thinks, but he doesn't care. It doesn't matter, nothing does, except his daughter, where is his daughter, she has to be ok, she has to be.

He feels a hand on his shoulder, forceful, turning him. He comes face to face with Kate, who he thinks is talking, saying something over and over, but he can't hear her, can't hear anything except the blood rushing through his ears. So she shakes him, hard, and he finally makes eye contact with her.

"Rick, she's going to be ok. She's going to be ok. She's going to be ok." She says it over and over and over, until she sees some recognition register on his face.

"Ok?" he manages, barely a whisper.

"She got hit in the shoulder. They have her sedated while they remove the bullet and stitch her up. But she's ok. It's ok." He falls forward then, not intending to, collapsing in her arms. She's hugging him, running her hand up and down his back, soothing him, whispering "it's ok" over and over. He doesn't know how long they stay like that, but it feels like forever. And he hates himself for finding comfort with her, hates himself for even being glad she's touching him, hates himself for thinking about her when he should only be thinking about Alexis. So he straightens himself up, takes a deep breath.

"When can I see her?" He doesn't know who he is asking, doesn't think Kate is the person to ask. She leads him over to a chair, pushes down on his shoulders until he sits, then strides over to the desk, her cop persona on in full force, demanding answers from the receptionist. Moments later, she's crouched in front of him, forcing her head into his line of sight.

"Come on, you can see her now," she says, then stands, reaches out her hand to help him up. He doesn't take it, stands up on his own, and she looks pained, but quickly covers it and starts walking. He follows her through the hall until she stops suddenly. "Rick, she's sedated. They said she won't be up for a little while. But she's going to be ok." She's preparing him, he realizes, and he nods in response, the careful use of his first name jarring him once again. She takes a few more steps, then opens a door on her right, urging him to go in. He does, and she stays where she is, at the window, watching.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Okay.

He's at Alexis's side immediately, holding her hand, brushing her hair back, whispering to her, telling her how much he loves her and how sorry he is and how exactly could this be happening to her, to him, to them. But he's grateful, so grateful, that his baby girl is going to be ok, that she's going to wake up and have her life ahead of her once again. So among his apologies and tears he says thank you over and over, not even pausing to wonder who he is thanking, because it doesn't matter, Alexis is ok, everything is ok.

He hears a noise from the hall, then the sound of something dragging across the floor, and looks up. Kate pulls a chair to the side of the bed where he is standing. The sight of the chair causes him to notice the ache that's settled in his back from bending over the bed, and he wonders how long he's been there.

He doesn't know what to do or say or think. Here she is, being the very picture of supportive, understanding, kind, caring, her actions saying more than she ever has. He reminds himself that she does care about him, even if it's less than he does for her, even if it's different. He reminds himself that everything is ok, that even if Kate doesn't love him, he has Alexis, and everything is ok.

He realizes that he's still standing, that she's frozen at her spot just a few feet away from him, unsure of what to do or how to help. He whispers a thank you, falls into the chair.

"I called Martha. Espo and Ryan and Lanie are all here, in the waiting room." A pause, a breath. "Martha said she's on her way back into the city. I told her not to rush, that Alexis is sleeping anyway." Pause. Deep breath. "There were two shooters. Kids from another high school, a public school, who hadn't graduated. Apparently threats had been exchanged earlier in the day when these kids showed up at Alexis's graduation, and they decided to make good on them by showing up to the party with guns." Another pause. "Five students were shot. One fatally. Not even a graduate. The little brother of the girl who was throwing the party." Another breath. "But they're in custody. We have their guns, their statements, the statements of everyone at the party."

"How is this happening?" He's thinking it as he feels his back settle into the chair, but doesn't realize he said it out loud until she takes his hand in hers and squeezes, offering some comfort.

"Why does everyone I love get shot?" His brain-to-mouth filter must be completely broken, because from the look on her face, he realizes he must have said that out loud, too. _Damnit, Rick. Good one, real smooth_. "Sorry," he mumbles, turning away.

"Castle?" He hears the real question in her voice: did you just say you love me? Again? And he is screaming at himself in his head at his utter stupidity. But he's so hurt and confused and exhausted that he doesn't even have the energy to hold back.

"Don't act so surprised. I know you heard me." His tone is bitter, harsh. He glances up at her just as it all registers on her face. She looks shocked, then pained, then horrified, and suddenly she is leaning against the hospital bed, seemingly unable to hold herself up.

"You know?" she croaks out.

"I heard you tell the bombing suspect. You remember every second of it. I didn't deserve the truth, but he did." He pauses, waits for that dig to reach her, wants to see it in her eyes, before he continues. "I get it. You were embarrassed. I'm not who you are looking for. I'm not who you want. I just…" He's not even sure what to say to her. The overwhelming feelings of anger and depression are taking over again, magnified by the fact that they're in a hospital room because _his daughter was just shot_. "Didn't I deserve the truth, Beckett?" He continues, anger making his voice louder, making him shake, making him want to scream. He reminds himself that he needs to keep his voice down, and takes a deep breath, starts talking more softly. "After all the time we've spent together, all the things we've been through together, didn't I deserve to know?" His voice breaks at the end and he looks away. The sight of Kate looking so hurt while sitting next to his injured, unconscious daughter is too much. He stands up. "You know what? I need some air. You should go anyway." And with that, he walks out.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Panic

Kate is frozen, still slumped against Alexis's hospital bed. Her mind is going a mile a minute, trying to piece everything together. She realizes she's breathing heavily, panicky, as her vision starts to blur. She's not sure if it's from tears or lack of oxygen. _How did this get so bad? When did everything fall apart? _

She's been asking herself that for weeks, but now she has her answer. And she wishes she didn't. She can't shake the look in his eyes out of her mind, the pain she felt reflected back at her, made so much worse on the man who had always worked so hard – and so successfully – to make her smile.

She's pulled out of her spiraling thoughts when she feels the bed shift under her, and she suddenly remembers where she is. She turns quickly to see Alexis's eyes opening slowly, confusion registering on her face as she struggles to figure out where she is.

"Hey, Alexis," Kate whispers, trying to sound soothing, making a concerted effort to put Kate away and replace her with Detective Beckett, calm, cool, and collected in the face of a less-than-ideal situation. "You're in the hospital. Do you remember what happened?" She brushes some bright red hair off her forehead with one hand, uses the other to give her good arm a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

"Detective Beckett?" Alexis finally opens her eyes completely, focuses on the woman standing over her. "What happened?"

"You were at a graduation party. Do you remember what happened?" Kate's pushing her, not wanting to frighten her by blurting, "You got shot." She doesn't want to overwhelm her. She sees Alexis thinking hard, her brow furrowed.

"There were guns," she starts, recognition flashing across her face. She tries to sit up, feeling panic overwhelm her.

"It's ok, Alexis," Kate says soothingly, putting her hand firmly on her good shoulder to ease her back into bed. "They're in custody. It's over. It's ok." This feels an awful lot like déjà vu, and she wonders how much Little Castle dislikes her these days, too.

Alexis settles back down, her eyes starting to shine with tears. She looks at her shoulder, pain suddenly flashing across her face. She squeezes her eyes, trying to push some of the pain away but simultaneously forcing the tears from her eyes. Kate, noticing her discomfort, presses the call button for a nurse. "We'll get you some pain medicine, ok? And then you can go back to sleep." Alexis just nods, unable to say anything, grateful for the help. A nurse comes rushing in, and Kate whispers something to her before she goes to the IV and adds the pain medicine.

"You're going to feel it going in, it's going to feel weird, but then it's going to go away and you'll feel much better," the nurses says reassuringly. Sure enough, Alexis feels when the pain medicine slides into her veins, a woozy feeling overtaking her brain, and she realizes her expression must have changed because Kate is suddenly squeezing her hand. And then, just as quickly as it came, it's over, and she's drifting into sleep.

"Where's dad?" she manages out as her heavy eyelids fall.

"He's here, he just stepped out. He's been here the whole time, and he'll be back when you wake up, ok? For now, just get some sleep," Kate replies softly.

Something dark flashes through Alexis's features at that, and Kate realizes that she's recalling the circumstances of her life (their lives?) before the shooting. It's clear she is working hard to form a coherent sentence before the drugs pull her under, and Kate holds her breath, bracing herself for more harsh words.

What she gets is much worse.

Alexis opens her eyes, just long enough for Kate to catch how wounded she looks, and sighs deeply. Her voice is soft, faraway, and laced with so much sadness, it sounds like her heart is breaking as she speaks.

"You really need to let him go," she whispers, her voice part sadness, part pleading, part exhausted anger.

She sounds an awful lot like her dad.

* * *

Kate stumbles out into the hallway, leans her back against the nearest wall.

_Let him go. Let him go. Let him go._

The words echo in her brain, reverberate around her skull. Hearing them from Alexis, picturing her, even in her drug-induced haze, trying desperately to protect her father, makes Kate's gut twist, her chest tighten. That breaks her heart, the fact that somehow she's sent him into such a downward spiral that even his teenaged daughter has noticed, has started to feel some of the pain that's been clouding his eyes lately, has stepped up to try to protect him.

Protect him. Because now, he needs to be protected from her. She bends down, hands on her thighs, because she honestly feels like she might be sick.

_Let him go_.

Hearing it laid out like that, as though that's her only option, brings a stinging clarity to her. She can't let him go. Mentally, physically, emotionally, could not possibly force herself to just walk away from him now.

She loves him too much to do that, to give up on him when he has stood by her through everything she's thrown at him.

She knows in that instant what she has to do: she has to fight. Hard. For him, for _them_.

Fight to rebuild what she had so quickly, so carelessly dismantled.

Fight to make him see that she loves him and that she never ever plans to _let him go_.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Release

She finds him outside the hospital, his back against a brick wall, his head slumped forward. She can see him breathe in sharply as he senses her arrival, but he refuses to acknowledge her. "Alexis woke up." She knows that'll get his attention. He shoots up when he hears that, straightens as though ready to take off.

"She _what_?" He pushes off the wall and starts rushing back inside.

"No, Castle, it's fine. I was there." She grabs his arm, stopping him from running inside. "She fell back asleep after the nurse gave her something for the pain. She's ok, just a little scared. I told her you were here."

"You spoke to her? Thanks." His gratefulness is sincere. There is no one more important to him than Alexis, and he knows that, despite everything, Kate does still care about her.

"Of course." She's hesitant now, lost some of the bravado she had when stormed out. But she wills herself to start again. "She said something to me though, um, right before the pain medicine put her back to sleep." He's still not looking at her, although she does notice a wince, and she wonders if this is the right way to go about it. But she's started now, and she needs to tell him. Her voice is quiet as she forces the words past her lips, trying hard to hold back tears. "She told me that I really need to let you go."

He looks up at her at that, startled. He's about to apologize for his daughter's intrusion into their personal lives when he finds that he just doesn't have the energy to do it. "Well, she's always been a perceptive kid," he states evenly instead.

She steps back so she is leaning against the brick wall beside him, suddenly feeling like she can't hold herself up anymore. "Is that what you want?" she whispers as her body betrays her and tears start to roll down her cheeks.

"It's not about what _I_ want. It's never been about what I want. You made sure of that." His tone is angry once again, and he's glad for it; anger is much easier to deal with it, much easier to express, than the despair that is waiting for him underneath. She's about to respond when he decides to continue speaking. He is tired of dragging this with him for weeks and decides that he's ready to just cut ties.

"Listen, Beckett, I can't do this. I told you, I understand." He pauses, unsure of how honest he should be, then figures he should just lay it all out there, get it all out so he can start to put it behind him. He stares at his hands as he continues. "It hurts. God, it hurts a lot. Hurt a lot, when I heard. And I've tried to get over it, over _you_, in a variety of perhaps not-so-wise ways, but I've realized I just can't do it while following you around all the time. Maybe if you had been honest with me, and given me time to move on, I could have done it, could have kept following you around. God knows I would've tried. But knowing now how you so easily kept up the lie, how you've been stringing me along all these months, I just… I can't do it, Kate. I can't." He hasn't looked at her the whole time, afraid that he'll cave when he sees her eyes plead with him to stay.

"String you along? Is that what you think I've been doing?" She feels her gut clench, her heart drop. She takes a moment, breathes in deeply, tries to collect herself, steels herself for his response. Her thoughts run through her mind in quick bursts, all blinding, and she feels herself nearly doubling over from it all. _Stringing me along. Can't follow you around. Over you._

"What the hell else am I supposed to think?" He practically spits the words at her, and starts pressing into her personal space, his carefully contained rage rearing its ugly head. "Tell me, _Detective_, what it is you want me to say. You want me to say that I'll follow you around forever? Be your constant confidence booster, always waiting in the wings to pick you up, hand you a coffee, give you a compliment?" She's caught so off-guard by his outburst, by this angry side that she rarely sees from him, that she can't even put words together to respond, doesn't even move back as he approaches her. "That's what I thought. More silence. Well, you just keep that up. Keep being a coward. See how far that gets you, see how many people you can trick into staying around. But I'm done. This? This is over." And just as suddenly as it started, he's walking off, past her, towards the hospital doors. She's at a loss, completely unsure of what to do, but she knows that he's right, that she can't continue to do nothing.

So she grabs his arm again, stops him, spins him to face her. "I know you know none of that is true. I know you know me better than that." She feels the tears start to well up again, gets angry at herself for not being able to hold it together when it comes to this man, this relationship. "You know me better than anyone. You've somehow weaseled your way into my life, made yourself a part of me, and I took that for granted, took _you_ for granted. I did."

She pauses, and now it's her turn to wonder how honest she should be. She figures it's now or never, and she does _not_ want it to be never. "God, Castle, you tried to take a bullet for me. I couldn't even process that. Do you know what that would have done to me? And that's what scares me the most. The idea that I could care about someone that much, just to lose them..." Her voice trails off. "I can't do it again, Rick. I just can't," she whispers, tears rolling down her face.

She's on a roll now, even as the tears fall, and as the words are flying out of her mouth, she's hoping beyond hope that she says the right thing, makes him see the reality of her situation, _their_ situation. "It's too much. Too much responsibility, too much of everything I don't deserve. I can't have you love me so much that you put yourself in the line of fire for me. I can't tell Alexis that her dad isn't coming home because of me." She pauses for a second, sees him wince at that, then continues, her voice softer.

"That's why I kept quiet. Because I couldn't lie to you and tell you I didn't feel anything for you, but I also couldn't accept that you _loved me_. It's too much." As all of this is pouring out of her mouth, she is quickly realizing that these are not the right words. Her brain is screaming at her, trying to start a mutiny, overtake her mouth, tell him what she really wants to say and what he so clearly needs to hear. _I love you. I love you so much that it scares me. Please still love me back. I've forgotten how to live without you. Don't make me live without you._

But she doesn't say those things. The tears are coming down, hard, and even though he's still looking at her like she's ripped his heart out (not _like_, she reminds herself, because she really may as well have done just that), there's a sort of tenderness in his expression, a saddened, muted kind of affection.

When he finally talks, his voice is so quiet, she almost doesn't hear him. "That's not fair. Because I could have lost you. For a minute, I _did_ lose you." He pauses, that sentence still so painful even a year later. "And it's too late for me, Kate. I already love you. It doesn't matter that it's all too much, doesn't matter if you think you don't deserve it, because there's not a damn thing I can do about it now." He pauses, lowers his voice. "Except leave. The only thing I can do now is walk away."

He once again starts walking towards the hospital, this time slumped over with exhaustion, not booming with anger as he was before. The truth has deflated him, crushed his heart ever tighter, but he needs to shake it off, and quick, because he has a little girl in the hospital who needs her dad, so he works on squaring his shoulders as he walks in.

Kate watches all of the effort he's putting into getting himself together, and she feels as though she is being ripped apart.

"_No_," she suddenly blurts out, angrier than she meant it to sound. "You can't –"

"_Like hell I can't_," he turns and throws back at her before she has a chance to even complete her thought.

"Ok," she says quietly, looking down. "Ok, you're right. You can. And maybe you should." She pauses, thinking. "Actually, you definitely should. Because this right here, what's between us, is big. And it's scary. And we've hurt each other in the past. Hell, we've _been hurt_ in front of each other, been closer to death more times than anyone should ever have to be," she realizes her voice is getting louder, and decides to reign herself back in, lowering her voice once again. "And we're going to hurt each other again."

He scoffs at that, looks at her, his eyes showing nothing but complete heartache. "Well, I'm done sitting around and being hurt," he says, impressed with himself for keeping his voice so steady.

"But walking away is going to hurt. More than anything else we've ever been through. I don't even know…" Her voice drifts off, and she tries to force her real thoughts out. She breathes deeply, and continues. "I don't even know what I would do – am going to have to do – if this is really it. If this is really happening. If you're really walking away. I know I screwed up and you should never have found out that way…" She can't find the words to make him understand, and everything she says seems to force him to clam up further, visibly collapsing into himself and away from her. Because she is confirming what he thinks, that she doesn't want to lose him as a friend, as a partner. So she presses on, tries to make herself as clear as humanly possible. "You shouldn't have found out that way because I should have told you. I should have sat down with you, been rational, and for once, _uncomplicated_, and said, hey Castle, I heard you tell me that you love me. And guess what? I love you, too." The last couple of sentences are rushed, as she tried to force the words out of her mouth before she had a chance to lose her nerve.

Castle's whole body reacts to that: his head flies up, his jaw clenches, his posture straightens, his hands tighten into fists. It's as though he's waiting for the next blow, steeling himself against another sharp punch to the gut, waiting for the "but…"

She's imagined telling him those four words a hundred times over, but never in her wildest dreams did he react so violently. But she's feeling brave now, so she pushes forward. "I love you, Rick, and I'm scared. I didn't want to tell you because I didn't want to screw everything up and lose you altogether." She sees he's about to respond, but she cuts him off. "I was wrong. So wrong. Incredibly and terribly wrong. But I love you. I am stupidly, ridiculously in love with you. And I have been for some time." She waits a beat, stands in front of him, trying to force herself into his line of sight. "Please don't walk away from us now," she says softly, her voice laced with tears she didn't realize she was crying. In some other universe, Kate Beckett would tell herself that she would sooner die than beg someone not to leave her, _especially_ while crying. But in this universe, she cannot stand the idea of losing him, and she doesn't even care that she's been reduced to this pleading mess. She just needs him to understand.

His choked response is at once too much and not enough. "Why?"

She doesn't even know what exactly he is addressing with that – _why are you telling me this now, why should I believe you, why do you love me, why should I care_ – but she knows for sure that she is almost out of words, that her vocabulary is failing her. She steps closer to him, invading his space, and puts her hands on his shoulders. He doesn't move, which she takes as a positive sign in comparison to his previous outright rejection, so she tries to take a deep breath and continue.

"I'm so sorry. I can't – I don't – " Can't live without you? Don't want to try? What could she possibly say to him to make him understand? She notes that the fact that she is apparently sobbing is not helping her at all and _why can't she make him understand that she loves him and he needs to give them a chance?_

And then all at once she finds herself crushed in his embrace, his arms tight across her back, her face buried in his neck. "Ok, Kate. Ok," he whispers, bringing one hand up to run through her hair, trying to soothe them both. "Ok."


End file.
